Phoenix Park will transform into something more than just Dublin’s grand old lung when Zach Bryan brings his particular brand of heartland poetry to Ireland this June—three nights that promise to leave 150,000-odd souls standing in the same field, sharing the same air, singing words they didn’t know they needed until Bryan wrote them down.
The June 20-22 concerts, promoted by Aiken Promotions and AEG Presents, have already triggered a scramble for tickets that went live March 21 at 9 AM. Ticketmaster’s low availability warning for the Friday show tells the story: this isn’t just another concert series. It’s a cultural moment, complete with Turnpike Troubadours and Noeline Hofmann warming up crowds who probably know every word to their songs too.
What’s remarkable—and maybe a little absurd—is how country music has become Dublin’s unexpected export. Fans are booking flights from Amsterdam, Berlin, places where twang isn’t native tongue. They’re calculating whether the 45-minute walk from Heuston Station is worth skipping the LUAS, checking bus routes like pilgrims studying maps to Canterbury. The 38b bus route serves Phoenix Park directly, offering another option for those navigating the city’s transport puzzle.
Hotels are filling up with people who’ll spend more on accommodation than airfare, all for the chance to hear a Oklahoma kid sing about small-town heartbreak in a city that knows its own version of that particular ache. The family area offers a different perspective on the same experience—a space where kids over 5 can witness their parents singing along to songs about lives they haven’t lived yet.
Bryan’s tour continues to BST Hyde Park (June 28-29), then MetLife Stadium (July 18-20), before landing at Red Rocks in August. But there’s something about these Dublin dates—maybe it’s the 5 PM start time that catches the golden hour just right, or how Phoenix Park holds sound like cupped hands hold water.
The economic impact reads like a tourism board’s dream: international visitors, packed restaurants, merchandise flying off tables. But strip away the numbers and what remains is simpler—thousands of strangers who’ll stand together as daylight fades, connected by nothing more profound than knowing all the words to the same sad songs. This American-driven event provides a welcome boost amid concerns about the tourism crisis that has seen visitor numbers from the US significantly decrease in recent months.
That’s either the most cynical thing about modern life or the most hopeful, depending on which song is playing when you decide.
